What they saw was a person who missed church. What they didn’t see were the swollen eyes, the life fights,
the wounds of Job tearing my insides.

They didn’t see the tornado of trauma brewing within,
the effort to crawl out of bed, the long nights sleeping
in the car, the times fasting and praying just to
barely make it.

They didn’t see the turmoil of change wrapped in the uncertainty of where I would end up
or if that day would be my last.

They didn’t see the difficulties and spiritual battles at every turn, the panic attacks
from an over-reacting nervous system,
the stress of choosing God in hardship,
the stress of protecting and raising a child alone while resisting a lion set out to devour,

the stress of survival.

They didn’t see the conviction to trust God
in the midst of danger, in the loud chaos
of a silent escape. They didn’t see
God’s strength in weakness.

They didn’t see my very existence still on this earth
as a miracle.

“I was delivered from abuse” meant nothing to them. It was just another day for them surrounded by support while I walked the road of abandonment and trauma healing alone
with the Lord.

For years, I sat in the emptiness of what this had cost
in the midst of discouragement and unanswered prayer requests,

but I chose to fight the good fight,
to give grace, to say nothing.
I chose to take the fiery hits of betrayal from all directions and bury myself in the trenches of God’s Word, although deep inside I had many moments of selfishness where I secretly hoped someone would notice me bleeding.

I cried pools of desperation in solitude.
Many days I wanted to die. I was mad at God
for not letting me die,

but I still showed up. I still chose life.
I still proclaimed the gospel. I still tried
to help others from a place of deep pain,

but it meant nothing to them.
They didn’t care I had lived nine lives
and was on my last effort. I needed purpose
like my very breath,

but they didn’t see that. The refining fire,
the treacherous road of healing, and the choice to push forward after losing and injustice meant nothing to them.

I was just an unfaithful disciple who couldn’t always get to church.

There are people who will choose only to see you through the devil’s eyes. Some of them call themselves shepherds, but the blind can only make out the surface they feel with the rod. They can’t shepherd sheep that they do not see,

so instead of grace, instead of prayer, instead of encouragement, they pulled the thread I was hanging from to teach me a lesson,

to teach me the noose of obedience.